We were four hours on the road,winding along the side of a mountain ridge,which we finally crossed,with a splendid view of the sea at the far-distant end of a huge amphitheatre formed by two ridges of mountains,and on the other side the descent into Filjeesdorp.The whole way we saw no human being or habitation,except one shepherd,from the time we passed Buntje's kraal,about two miles out of Caledon.The little drinking-shop would not hold travellers,so I went to the house of the storekeeper (as the clergyman of Caledon had told me I might),and found a most kind reception.Our host was English,an old man-of-war's man,with a gentle,kindly Dutch wife,and the best-mannered children I have seen in the colony.They gave us clean comfortable beds and a good dinner,and wine ten years in the cellar;in short,the best of hospitality.I made an effort to pay for the entertainment next morning,when,after a good breakfast,we started loaded with fruit,but the kind people would not hear of it,and bid me good-bye like old friends.At the end of the valley we went a little up-hill,and then found ourselves at the top of a pass down into the level below.S-and I burst out with one voice,'How beautiful!'Sabaal,our driver,thought the exclamation was an ironical remark on the road,which,indeed,appeared to be exclusively intended for goats.I suggested walking down,to which,for a wonder,the Malay agreed.I was really curious to see him get down with two wheels and four horses,where I had to lay hold from time to time in walking.The track was excessively steep,barely wide enough,and as slippery as a flagstone pavement,being the naked mountain-top,which is bare rock.However,all went perfectly right.
How shall I describe the view from that pass?In front was a long,long level valley,perhaps three to five miles broad (I can't judge distance in this atmosphere;a house that looks a quarter of a mile off is two miles distant).At the extreme end,in a little gap between two low brown hills that crossed each other,one could just see Worcester -five hours'drive off.Behind it,and on each side the plain,mountains of every conceivable shape and colour;the strangest cliffs and peaks and crags toppling every way,and tinged with all the colours of opal;chiefly delicate,pale lilac and peach colour,but varied with red brown and Titian green.In spite of the drought,water sparkled on the mountain-sides in little glittering threads,and here and there in the plain;and pretty farms were dotted on either side at the very bottom of the slopes toward the mountain-foot.The sky of such a blue!(it is deeper now by far than earlier in the year).In short,I never did see anything so beautiful.It even surpassed Hottentot's Holland.On we went,straight along the valley,crossing drift after drift;-a drift is the bed of a stream more or less dry;in which sometimes you are drowned,sometimes only POUNDED,as was our hap.The track was incredibly bad,except for short bits,where ironstone prevailed.However,all went well,and on the road I chased and captured a pair of remarkably swift and handsome little 'Schelpats'.That you may duly appreciate such a feat of valour and activity,I will inform you that their English name is 'tortoise'.On the strength of this effort,we drank a bottle of beer,as it was very hot and sandy;and our Malay was a WET enough Mussulman to take his full share in a modest way,though he declined wine or 'Cape smoke Soopjes'(drams)with aversion.No sooner had we got under weigh again,than Sabaal pulled up and said,'There ARE the Baviaans Missis want to see!'and so they were.At some distance by the river was a great brute,bigger than a Newfoundland dog,stalking along with the hideous baboon walk,and tail vehemently cocked up;a troop followed at a distance,hiding and dodging among the palmiets.They were evidently en ROUTE to rob a garden close to them,and had sent a great stout fellow ahead to reconnoitre.'He see Missis,and feel sure she not got a gun;if man come on horseback,you see 'em run like devil.'
We had not that pleasure,and left them,on felonious thoughts intent.
The road got more and more beautiful as we neared Worcester,and the mountains grew higher and craggier.Presently,a huge bird,like a stork on the wing,pounced down close by us.He was a secretary-bird,and had caught sight of a snake.We passed 'Brant Vley'(BURNT or hot spring),where sulphur-water bubbles up in a basin some thirty feet across and ten or twelve deep.The water is clear as crystal,and is hot enough just NOT to boil an egg,I was told.At last,one reaches the little gap between the brown hills which one has seen for four hours,and drives through it into a wide,wide flat,with still craggier and higher mountains all round,and Worcester in front at the foot of a towering cliff.The town is not so pretty,to my taste,as the little villages.The streets are too wide,and the market-place too large,which always looks dreary,but the houses and gardens individually are charming.
